


Gone To The Dogs

by Llywela



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 06:04:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llywela/pseuds/Llywela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story was written in response to a Lyric Wheel challenge hosted at Prosfanfic, using the lyrics given to me by Tracey: 'He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother' by the Hollies.<br/>With thanks to Birgit and Arianna for their much-needed and gratefully received comments and suggestions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone To The Dogs

**Author's Note:**

> CI5 and all associated characters belong to Mark 1 Productions.

 

*****

  
"Come on, let's go."  
  
The voice cut across blissful memories of the previous night, memories that had kept him amused while he waited, soaking up the unseasonable sunshine that had blossomed unexpectedly from behind the clouds. Startled out of his reverie, Bodie slid from his perch on the bonnet of his partner's car and, unhurried, sauntered around to the passenger's side. Doyle was already gunning the engine as he dropped into his seat and slammed the door, cheerfully enquiring, "So, where are we going then?"  
  
"You'll see." Doyle glanced sideways him, eyes dancing. "Got a lead."   
  
"'Bout time too." Bodie waited a moment for his partner to enlighten him. When nothing appeared to be forthcoming, he tried again, almost laughing as amusement and irritation warred. "Well?"  
  
"Well what?" Doyle shot his best blank look across at Bodie, somehow managing to appear genuinely puzzled by the question.  
  
Bodie rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration. Then he directed a stern look towards the other man. "Well, while we're on the way to … there. Wherever _there_ is."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Why not share a few details with me, eh? Like where we're going."  
  
"Oh that."  
  
"Yes, that." Once again, Bodie waited a moment. And once again he was reduced to prompting. "Well?"  
  
Doyle shot another sideways glance at him, and smirked. "We, my son, are going to the dogs."  
  
There was a brief pause.   
  
"Don't let Cowley hear you say that. He'll have us back over with Macklin before you can blink."  
  
Doyle rolled his eyes. "Idiot. The dogs, greyhounds. Races. My snout reckons that's where the meet's gonna be."  
  
"Ah. Yes. Dogs." Bodie rubbed his hands and grinned appreciatively. "Sounds like fun!"

*****

  
It was a busy day at the races. Crowds of spectators were milling around, some placing bets, others buying food and drink, still more meeting up with friends to exchange news and views. The air was filled with noise of talking, laughing, and shouting. In honour of the season, Christmas carols could just be made out above the noise of the throng, playing tinnily over the public address system.  
  
Bodie turned away from the kiosk, hands full of hotdog and coffee. Managing to neither spill nor drop anything as he weaved his way through the crowd, he returned to the relative quiet of the corner Doyle was occupying and handed over a steaming cup.   
  
"Ta." Doyle barely spared him a glance. He was standing with his back against a wall, legs half crossed in a casual pose, his sharp eyes constantly scanning the crowd around them.   
  
Putting his own cup down on the lower wall to one side, Bodie turned to sit on the wall and likewise let his eyes wander over the throng. After taking a deep sniff of the blissful aroma of fried onions, he took a big bite out of his hotdog and chewed it thoughtfully, savouring the delicious flavour of onion mixed with the succulent sausage and soft bread. Then he turned back to Doyle. "You sure this is the place?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure." Doyle blew at his still too-hot coffee.   
  
"How reliable is that snout?"   
  
"This is the place." Doyle tone was firm, allowing no room for argument. He glanced at his partner, his eyes dropping down to rest on the hotdog for just a second before returning to Bodie. "Keep your eyes open."  
  
Bodie shrugged, and took a second bite out of his hotdog.   
  
Doyle sipped cautiously at his coffee, and then put the cup down next to Bodie's, eyes fixed on a man who had just come through the entrance. "There he is."  
  
Bodie looked across the crowded stand in the direction Doyle was indicating. Sure enough, there he was. Jeffreys. The elusive dealer they had been trying to pin down for so long.   
  
"Gold star for your snout," he murmured as he rose smoothly to his feet, abandoning both his coffee and the remains of the hotdog.  
  
Separating, the partners started to slowly work their way through the crowd, coming towards Jeffreys from different sides. Not too close though. Not yet. The whisper they had heard of something big was not enough: it had to be backed up with hard evidence. They needed to find out who he was meeting with, observe the deal, and learn as much as they could before moving in. Jeffreys had escaped the long arm of the law too many times already.   
  
Trying to look innocuous, while keeping Jeffreys always in sight, Bodie was brought to an abrupt halt when a large group of chattering race enthusiasts wandered in front of him, blocking his way as well as his view. Muttering to himself impatiently, the dark-haired agent moved this way and that in an attempt to get around them. But the race goers were in seasonal high spirits and seemed to find the situation amusing, which only added to the confusion. Several valuable minutes were lost before the way ahead cleared once more. Then Bodie was stopped in his tracks yet again.   
  
Jeffreys was gone. And so was Doyle.   
  
Bodie frowned and swore to himself as he scanned the crowd around him. No, they definitely weren't there. Either of them. Doyle must have seen Jeffreys leave and followed, he decided. He quickly moved out through the doorway, still turning his head this way and that, searching for any sign of his partner or their quarry. There was no trace of either, or any clue as to which direction they had gone.   
  
"Are you all right there, young man?" a rather wavery, yet strident voice demanded. Bodie spun around and found himself facing a tiny but tough looking little old woman with a walking stick in each hand, who was regarding him quizzically.   
  
"I'm sorry, love, what was that?" he managed to ask, inwardly seething at yet another hold-up.   
  
"You seem a little lost," the woman continued, rather as though this were a deadly sin. "Is there something wrong?"   
  
Telling himself to be polite, Bodie manufactured a charming smile for her benefit and explained that he had lost the friend he came with and was wondering where he might have gone. Had she seen a man with curly hair come this way?   
  
The woman gave him a severe look. "Young man, I have seen any number of people with curly hair this afternoon. Which one in particular were you thinking of?"   
  
"Looks a bit like a scarecrow?" Bodie tried, hopefully.  
  
The woman just looked at him, her expression an odd mixture of pity and disdain.   
  
Well, it had been worth a try. Bodie found himself apologising again, although he was not quite sure what for. Apparently satisfied, she turned away and hobbled off through the door into the stand, leaning hard on her sticks.   
  
Bodie watched her go, inwardly cursing at the potentially valuable time wasted on her while the trail went cold. He let out a deep breath and distractedly ran a hand through his hair, thinking hard. Then, reasoning that Jeffreys would want to take care of his transactions in a less populated area, he came to a decision based on little more than hopeful guesswork and hurried in the direction of the enclosed car park, narrowly avoiding a collision with a group of yet more pensioners in his haste.

*****

  
Trying to look in every direction at once without attracting attention, Bodie moved cautiously through the car park. Muffled sounds of the day's activities could still be heard off in the distance, but here all seemed quiet. Maybe he'd guessed wrong and Jeffreys had gone somewhere else entirely. But where? And what was Doyle up to, disappearing like that without him?  
  
Without warning, a hand snaked out of nowhere and was clamped over his mouth, pulling him behind a wall before he had time to even realise what was happening.   
  
For the merest fraction of a second, Bodie froze with shock. Then he struck out at the person behind him. But even as he reacted, his flailing arms were caught with surprising ease, and as the hand released his mouth a familiar voice whispered urgently in his ear. "Sshhh, watch it."  
  
Fighting the urge to collapse with relief, Bodie stopped struggling. Freed, he took a moment to straighten his clothing while disguising any trace of lost composure, and then turned his most murderous look on Doyle. "Where the hell have you been?" he hissed.   
  
"Me?" Doyle glared back, but kept his voice very low. "Keep your voice down. What d'you mean, me? What happened to you?"  
  
"Got held up, didn't I?" Bodie followed Doyle's lead and his reply was barely audible. "Where's Jeffreys?"  
  
"Over there," Doyle murmured as he jerked his head to indicate the direction Bodie had been going. "You nearly walked right into him. You'll never guess who he's with."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Bodie's ears pricked up.  
  
"Leston-Rama." Doyle half-turned to give his partner a meaningful look as he guided him further down the car park, keeping well hidden behind the high wall that divided customer parking from staff parking.   
  
"What, Freddie Leston-Rama? Owns this place?"  
  
"Yep. The one and only."  
  
Bodie whistled softly under his breath. "The Cow's not going to like that." He peered cautiously around the end of the wall. The two men could be seen standing in an open space, holding a very animated conversation, gesturing at one another. Maybe arguing about something. No words could be made out, although the sound of their raised voices carried across the stillness of the otherwise seemingly deserted car park.   
  
He turned back to his partner. "Any idea what they're talking about?"  
  
"No." Doyle ran a hand through his tangled mop of light-brown curls, elbow resting against the wall. "Haven't been able to get close enough to hear anything."   
  
"We need to find out what they're up to."  
  
"Yeah, I know that." Doyle peered around the corner again, then quickly pulled back. "Hang about. They're moving."   
  
The two men pressed themselves back against the wall, breath held, as Jeffreys and Leston-Rama ended their discussion. Jeffreys turned abruptly and stalked towards the door that would lead him into the warmth and comfort of the office complex that sided the track. Leston-Rama remained where he was, shoulders tense, his balled fists resting lightly on the bonnet of a handy car while even from a distance his ragged breathing was apparent as he struggled to regain his composure.  
  
The two agents exchanged a quick glance, silently agreeing their next course of action. Then Bodie peeled away from the wall and sprinted across the concrete to the door that Jeffreys had gone through, managing to disappear through it himself without being noticed by the distracted and apparently distressed Leston-Rama.

*****

  
Jeffreys moved swiftly and purposefully through the office complex. He had a good start on Bodie who, trailing in his wake, found it difficult to keep him in view through the maze of corridors and stairways. At one point, dashing up a flight of stairs having lost sight of his quarry, he missed his step and, turning an ankle in the process, only narrowly avoided a nasty fall. It was also a tough job trying to look as though he was supposed to be wandering – or hobbling, rather – around this area, which was supposedly out-of-bounds to the general public. Fortunately, the offices seemed only lightly manned today – perhaps they were all out enjoying the races? And those few members of staff who were around paid him little heed, perhaps assuming that anyone wandering around these corridors must be entitled to be there.   
  
Bodie found himself wondering about the implications of that, and of the confrontation they had just observed. Jeffreys had a very nasty reputation, but the authorities had never yet been able to pin anything concrete on him. It was an ongoing frustration, knowing him to be a serious player without being able to prove it, and the current suspicions against him had prompted today's little trip to the races.   
  
And yet here he was strolling around Freddie Leston-Rama's office complex as if he owned the place. The staff were treating him as if he belonged there, as well, paying him even less attention than they were to Bodie.   
  
Bodie's musings were brought to an abrupt halt as ahead of him Jeffreys rounded a corner, then stopped outside an executive office and produced a set of keys. As he unlocked the door, Bodie pulled up short just at the corner, peered around and then swiftly drew back to smile winningly at the attractive secretary who paused as she was passing, giving him a curious look.   
  
"I'm sorry, sir, are you lost?" she asked, pleasantly enough.   
  
Bodie thought fast and replied in his thickest Liverpudlian accent, "Oh, yeah, luv. Looking for the bogs, I was. Any idea where I could find them?"  
  
The girl looked slightly puzzled, but answered easily enough. "Oh, you've come completely the wrong way for that. This is a restricted area I'm afraid. If you go to the end of this corridor, take the stairs back down to the ground floor and turn right, the men's room is the second door on the left."  
  
"Oh, ta, luv, that's great." Bodie kept up the act. "I'm really sorry, I never realised. There's no signs, you see."  
  
The girl smiled reassuringly, and watched him to the end of the corridor and onto the stairs before carrying on her way. Glancing over his shoulder to be sure she really had gone, Bodie then swiftly doubled back to the office Jeffreys had unlocked and entered.   
  
The bronze plaque on the door read, 'F. Leston-Rama, Managing Director'. So, Jeffreys had keys to Leston-Rama's own office? This was getting stranger by the minute. Leston-Rama was a wealthy businessman with friends in high places and aspirations in that direction himself. His reputation was not exactly whiter than white, but there had never been any indication that he was involved with anything illegal as far as Bodie could recall off-hand, and certainly not with anyone of Jeffreys' calibre.   
  
Hearing what sounded like a telephone conversation on the other side of the door, but unable to make out any words, Bodie glanced around the corridor and spotted another door a little further down, leading to an adjacent secretary's office. Finding the door unlocked, he quickly slipped inside and began to examine the room. It was very neat, orderly, and – wonder of wonders – had an adjoining door into Leston-Rama's suite next door. Keeping low, so as not to be seen through the frosted glass panes, Bodie crept over to the door. Fully alert, he pressed an ear to the doorframe, and soon found himself listening to a very interesting conversation.  
  
The conversation came to an abrupt end when Leston-Rama arrived back at his office, prompting Jeffreys to slam the phone down. Bodie silently rose from his position by the inner door and slunk across the room towards the main door, hoping to be able to find a quiet spot from which to contact Doyle by R/T. But as he reached for the door handle, the door itself started to open, swinging inwards leaving him exposed in the centre of the room with nowhere to hide.

*****

  
His hand automatically reaching beneath his jacket ready to draw his gun if need be, Bodie found himself face to face with his partner, in much the same pose.   
  
Both men let out deep breaths they had barely been aware of holding, and then swiftly swung into action, closing the door and taking up position low down, so as not to be seen from the next room, from where as the voices of Jeffreys and Leston-Rama could be heard, still arguing.   
  
Doyle frowned at Bodie, mouthing the words, "What's going on?"  
  
"Blackmail," Bodie mouthed back at him, and Doyle nodded, grasping all the implications from that one word. From the sounds of it, Leston-Rama was fast approaching breaking point with the demands being laid on him, and with a major deal about to take place, Jeffreys was beginning to lose patience and considering cutting his losses before his 'partner' could blow the whole thing.  
  
Before the two agents could take action, they were startled once again when the office door flew open and they found themselves face to face with the woman Bodie had spoken to earlier, obviously Leston-Rama's secretary. She glared at them, outraged. "Hey! Excuse me, just what do you think you're doing in here?"  
  
Almost before the agents could react, the situation started to spin out of control as Jeffreys and his unwilling partner erupted through the connecting door behind them, alerted by the shout. After just one glance at the scene before him, Jeffreys spun on his heel and disappeared back through the other office, Doyle hard on his heels. Leston-Rama, meanwhile, panicked and ploughed into Bodie, knocking him off balance, before charging out into the corridor past his startled secretary. Cursing at the pain shooting through his ankle, Bodie swiftly regained his balance and took off in hot pursuit, almost colliding with his partner as he charged out into the corridor. Recovering, the two agents continued the chase as ahead of them Jeffreys and Leston-Rama jostled for space in the narrow hallway. The ensuing foot race down the corridors, which would have left some of the greyhounds panting at the heels of the four men, finally came to an end with a major pile-up of human bodies in front of an illegally locked emergency exit that left all four of them winded, but Bodie and Doyle each with a firm grip on their respective quarry.   
  
Doyle was the first to regain his feet, keeping tight hold of Jeffrey's collar, while Bodie was trying in vain to stand up without letting go of Leston-Rama's still impeccable lapel.   
  
Worried by his partner's visible effort, Doyle asked, "You okay there, mate?"  
  
To Doyle's relief, Bodie, although still on the floor and rubbing his leg with his free hand, grinned up at him and answered sarcastically, "Yeah, never better, thanks for asking. Just twisted me knee – and my ankle," he added with a rueful smile.   
  
"Can you walk?" Doyle asked, still concerned.   
  
"Yeah, think so, just gimme a hand up, willya?"  
  
By now, a small crowd of office workers had emerged from their rooms on this stretch of corridor and were watching their antics in solemn silence. Finally, one rather mousy girl in a shortish mini addressed Doyle, who was trying to get his partner upright one-handed. "Can you manage?"  
  
Doyle nodded. "It's okay, he isn't heavy." But then he grunted with the effort as he hauled his partner to his feet, and, in the spirit of truth, added, "Not that heavy, anyway." He then had to let go of Bodie and dash back down the corridor after Jeffreys, who had taken advantage of his momentary distraction to make a break for it. Rugby-tackling the older man to the ground, Doyle then hauled him upright once more, and dragged him back to where the crushed and cowed Leston-Rama was huddling in a corner and Bodie, leaning against the wall for support, was now chatting up the girl in the mini.

*****

  
After securing their prisoners in readiness for the back-up team Doyle had sent for, Bodie and Doyle rousted Leston-Rama's secretary from the phone and took over the twin offices. Bodie dropped into a chair to get his weight off his abused leg and brought Doyle up to speed on what he had learned earlier, while Doyle conducted a little judicious snooping through the filing cabinets.   
  
This proved highly enlightening. It appeared that Jeffreys had been blackmailing Leston-Rama over some past indiscretion, using the businessman's fortune and many enterprises as cover and bankroll for his own nefarious purposes, and growing increasingly cocky with each scheme he got away with undetected: everything from doctoring the dogs which raced at Leston-Rama's track, to a drug smuggling ring. Leston-Rama's office yielded an absolute wealth of the hard evidence needed to finally nail Jeffreys.   
  
The back-up team eventually put in an appearance and made a start on securing and searching the office complex, and took the two prisoners off Doyle and Bodie's hands.   
  
Doyle then looked across at his partner, still slumped in the managing director's chair with his injured leg now propped up on the desk. "Come on then, let's get you to the quack. Can't have you laid up for Christmas, can we."  
  
Bodie rolled his eyes and held out a hand for Doyle to pull him to his feet once more. Doyle obliged, all the while protesting, "My god, what have you been eating?"  
  
Leaning hard on his partner's shoulder for support getting down the stairs, Bodie retorted, "Thought you said I wasn't heavy?"  
  
That earned him a glare and cheeky grin from his partner. "I lied."  
  
  
  
written December 2002

 

The companion-piece and follow-up to this story is 'Goodwill To All Men'[](http://randomness.deadly-nightshade.com/GoodwillToAllMen.html)

  
  
  
Lyrics courtesy of Tracey  
The Hollies, "He ain't heavy, he's my brother"   
  
The road is long  
With many a winding turn  
That leads us to who knows where  
Who knows when  
But I'm strong  
Strong enough to carry him  
He ain't heavy, he's my brother  
  
So on we go  
His welfare is of my concern  
No burden is he to bear  
We'll get there  
For I know  
He would not encumber me  
He ain't heavy, he's my brother  
  
If I'm laden at all  
I'm laden with sadness  
That everyone's heart  
Isn't filled with the gladness  
Of love for one another  
  
It's a long, long road  
From which there is no return  
 _While we're on the way to there  
Why not share  
_ And the load  
Doesn't weigh me down at all  
He ain't heavy, he's my brother  
  
He's my brother  
He ain't heavy, he's my brother...

 


End file.
